eld the door open for them with
a bow that had something courtly in it, at least so Meg thought,
puzzling how it came to be associated with salt beef by the
hundredweight and bins of flour. He watched them go over the
grass--at least he watched Meg in her cool, summer muslin and
pale-blue belt, Meg in her shady chip hat, with the shining fluffy
plait hanging to her waist.

Judy's long black legs and crumpled cambric had no element of the
picturesque in them.

Mrs. Hassal unfastened the padlock of the store-room. Such a
chorus of "ohs!" and "ahs!" there was from the children!

Baby had never seen so much sugar together in her life before; she
looked as if she would have liked to have been let loose in the
great bin for an hour or two.

And the currants! There was a big wooden box brim full--about
forty pounds, Mrs. Hassal thought when questioned.

Bunty whipped up a handful and pocketed them when everyone was
looking at the mountain of candles.

"Home-made! my DEAR, why, yes, of course," the old lady said.
"Why, I wouldn't dream of using a bought candle, any more than
I would use bought soap."

She showed them the great bars of yellow, clean-smelling stuff,
with finer, paler-coloured for toilet purposes.

Hams and sides of bacon hung thickly from the rafters. "Those are
mutton hams," she said, pointing to one division. "I keep those
for the stockmen."

Pip wanted to know if the stores were meant to serve them all their
lives, there seemed enough of them: he was astonished to hear that
every six months they were replenished.

"Twenty to thirty men, counting the boundary riders and stockmen
at different parts of the place; and double that number at shearing
or drafting times, not to mention daily sundowners--it's like feeding
an army, my dears," she said; "and then, you see, I had to make
preparations for all of you--Bunty especially."

Her little grey eyes twinkled merrily as she looked at that small
youth.

"You can have them back," Bunty said, half sulkily. He produced
half a dozen currants from his pocket. "I shouldn't think you'd
mind, with such a lot; we only have a bottleful at home."

On which the old lady patted his head, unlocked a tin, and filled
his hands with figs and dates.

"And have you to cook every day, for all those men?" Meg said,
wondering what oven could be found large enough.

"Dear, no!" the old lady answered. "Dear, dear, no; each man
does everything for himself in